The Lister
by Kbubbles1210
Summary: Bobby and Ellen discover a new supernatural species; one that may be more human than they thought, called Listers. After following a bloody and death-filled trail, they come across...a teenage girl, one with a strange past and knowledge worth killing for. But what they don't know is that she is the key to starting or ending a war; to saving or destroying the world.
1. Chapter 1

**Dear Readers,**

**This is my first fanfiction, so it may not be as good as you'd expect. I've been writing fanfiction for a while, but I've never published them. So, here's my first go! And please...**

*****_REVIEWS ARE LOVE_*****

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters in it. I only own the characters that I create, such as Esme.**

_Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Crowley, Garth, MORE TO COME AS STORY PROGRESSES_

**_Warnings:_**

**_*Blood_**

**_*Swearing_**

**_*Some Suggestive Themes_**

**_and the most important one of all..._**

**_SPOILERS!_**

**Spoilers up to season 6 (I think lol), some events have been altered or completely removed to fit the story plot.**

**_So without further adue, let's begin!_**

**Summary:**

_When Bobby and Ellen discover a new supernatural phenomenon; one that may be more human than they thought, called Listers. After following a bloody and death-filled trail, they come across...a teenage girl, one with a strange past and knowledge worth killing for._

_Esme Fallen was born with the Curse of the Lister, which is a pernement tourture that only has one way of surpressing; killing the contracts that the curse gives. When hunters find her, with in invitation to help, she reluctantly accepts their offer._

_But what they don't know is that a war is brewing, one that not only endangers their lives, but the lives of the world's as well. Follow Sam, Dean, Castiel, and others through what may be the last fight of their lives._

* * *

><p>Esme Fallen woke with a start, the nightmare ending abruptly.<p>

She was used to her mornings being like that, just like she was used to never having a real home. She was also familiar with the small drip of the faucet everywhere she went, and they way her motel room sometimes went cold suddenly, no matter how hot it was outside.

Esme was used to it all, because she wasn't what you would call "normal".

First things first, she was alone. Ever since the age of 10, she had always dependent on her instincts and the signs that everyone missed. Whether it be a small trace of sulfur near the window, or a chill in the left corner of the room.

Esme was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she's been doing it for years after all.

Sure, she was still a minor, and relied on the tens of hundreds of fake IDs in her glovebox, and her magnificent hacking skills, and her abilities of hand-to-hand combat. She tried not to stay in the same place for more than a day, and certainly to not inflict any mark on the place what-so-ever. So as far as the rest of the world was aware, she didn't exist.

Her father was a good man, a man who had died a death the nobody would've even thought was possible. He had trained her, prepared her, for a job she knew would be her's. She wasn't ready yet, and her father didn't tell her when she would have to be.

She was chosen to be a Lister, and she knew her responsibilities.

* * *

><p>Bobby Singer was sick of Rufus and his petty calls.<p>

Most of the time, he was just calling to say "hello", or to ask for stupid advice when investigating a case he had perfectly under control. But, Rufus, sadly, was his friend, and he trusted him just like Rufus trusted Bobby.

He got quite a large amount of calls from tens of different hunters, each asking for help on their current case. He even was forced to make an individual "hot line" for fake FBI calls, due to hunters often having to make fake IDs for many different federal operations. Some had FBI badges, other had wildlife centers, and most had a mixture of almost every badge Bobby could think of.

But he also had to worry about John's boys.

The idjits were hunters, too, for John had trained them to be ones after their mother had died from Azazel. The sucker was put down ages ago, but Bobby somehow felt as if he had never left.

Maybe he was just too used to the dreading feeling that a psycho-demon-hellspawn-murder was on the loose. It was probably just a hunch, but Bobby just couldn't let it go.

He was practically falling asleep on his dining table when one of his "personal" phones rang, the ring! ring! ring! snapping Bobby out of his space adventures.

He made a strange noise, only to scramble upward to answer that damned phone. "Who the hell's calling me this late?"

"I'd think you'd be awake, Bobby."

Bobby knew that voice too well. "Well hello to you too, Ellen."

He heard her sigh. "I believe I've found one."

"One what?" Bobby asked stupidly, only to gather his wits before continuing. "You found a Lister?"

"Believe so." Ellen cleared her throat, and he heard the rustling of papers and files. "Mysterious murders or important democratic leaders. First, Gregory Corman, the owner and founder of the business called CormanCo."

"What the hell is CormanCo?"

Bobby could practically hear Ellen nodding. "It's a commercial complex placed in New York, or in other words, an elephant in a haystack. The place is virtually impossible to break into, restricted access to those who are allowed to enter it, and security that is off the charts. Ash can't even access the security footage."

Bobby was getting a bit impatient, mostly because of sleeping on a few bottles of beer. "But, what is it? Commercial wise, anyways."

"It's a business for home management; security, taxes, health care." Ellen answered.

Bobby thought about that for a moment. "But why would this sucker want to kill a man that isn't so bad? What could he have possibly done to be killed by a Lister? Let alone get on one's list?"

"Exactly what I said." There was the sound of more papers moving around. "So, Ash did some research."

"You're welcome!" Someone, who Bobby could only assume was Ash, shouted distantly from the phone.

Ellen seemed to ignore him, or possible flash him a glare. "He was suspected of murdering a few children a couple years back. He was released from the case uncertainly, but was then called back to court after the suspension of human trafficking."

"Damn." Bobby mumbled. "So, did he spend his time in jail?"

"Nope. Released of no charges."

"So," Bobby was silent for a moment. It all seemed to piece together. Listers only have serious people on their lists, and once you're on it, you're not getting off it. "this Lister is killing people high on the political food chain?"

"Yes and no. Only ones that haven't seemed to suffer the consequence that they deserved." Ellen said. She seemed to have all the answers to Bobby's questions. Then again he had asked her to do some research for him if she wanted to (apparently she wanted to, judging by the amount of proof and a stone-hard trail).

Bobby didn't respond, at first. He thought for a second before a plan formed into mind. "Looks like we're goin' hunting."

* * *

><p>Esme had blood on her hands.<p>

It was sticky, and wet, and metallic-smelling.

And it was red.

She washed her hands in the sink of the building, wishing she could wash away the smell of death from her hands as well. She wasn't sickened by the sight of blood anymore, which was probably good for someone like her. But she also couldn't erase those memories of the all the people she had killed.

One life for thousands, possibly millions, depending on who was on her list that week.

It always changed each week, and when she missed a week, she would gain a scar. Her arms were covered with them, from all those times as a child where she hadn't obeyed the orders.

To passerby, they probably looked like self harm, it actually did. But each cut was like a letter, one that she couldn't figure out which angle and/or which language the letter had come from.

She was in a commercial building, one that story after story of offices. It was only Bill Nicholas in the building at the time, and that was her target.

He was in his chair, slumped at an angle that looked almost like he was asleep. Except the fact that there was a slice just below his neckline, one that was still bleeding quite a lot.

She sighed, getting a tissue to wipe off the blood on her knife. She liked this knife, with it's strange symbols carved into the side. It was such a silver that it looked blue in the moonlight.

There was a sound like a switch. "Don't move, or I'll shoot."

Gun. she thought, slipping her bloody knife into her jeans pocket as she turned towards the voice.

She was greeted by three men, each with loaded guns pointing at her with such professional posture. She admired their stances, and the way they showed no emotion while holding the gun.

"You're just a kid." the tall one said. He had shaggy brownish hair that flicked just below his ears. His eyes, which were a greenish-blue color in the dark, were squinted in something like concentration.

"You don't know that, Sam." The slightly shorter one, who looked almost angry, snapped.

There other man, who hadn't said anything, was a bit older than the two. She guessed his age was around his late 50s, but he too held his gun with precious posture.

Esme didn't dare say anything, for every word she would say could jeopardize her task. All she wanted was to kill who needed to be killed, then walk away until she receive another. That was how things went, or she would suffer the pain of another series of scars.

The tall guy, who the "slightly shorter" guy had called Sam, spoke again. "Put the knife down."

She didn't listen. These guys were not her business, and she had no right to kill them. But she held her knife ready, and her stance was positioned to strike.

"Please." The guy, Sam, put his hands up as if calming a wild animal. He crept forward with caution, and Esme couldn't blame them. They probably thought she was the insane little girl who had run away after her father was murdered.

It was more than that, and she wasn't even close to being insane.

Esme stepped back, making Sam quickly freeze his steps. Sam put his hands out again, and started moving.

You've got quite some nerve there, Sam. She thought, but she stepped away from the guy again.

"Sam, I would stop." the guy, who was younger than the other, but a bit taller nonetheless, said.

"Dean…" Sam warned.

She knew the other guys name now, which was good. She needed to get these guys in her head, just to make sure that if she encountered them again, she could remember it.

Esme felt a strike of fear, the first one she had felt all night.

They were hunters.

And they had to be hunting her.

"Back." She said, holding her knife up to stop Sam from coming closer.

Dean made a sudden movement, as if getting ready to shoot. Esme actually wanted him to do that, just to end her pain and the lives she had to end. She wanted this to be over, to stop herself from killing anymore.

But she wasn't ready to die yet, the world wasn't ready for her.

Step by step, life after life, she would save those who are contaminating the world with slivers of Hell. There were people in this world who were so terrible that death wasn't worthy enough for them. Event the torture down in Hell was too good for them.

The older guy finally said his first words, and they weren't exactly a great first impression. "Balls..."

Esme felt the urge to laugh. Never in her life has she ever heard someone use the word "balls" as an alternate version of a swear. Yet again these people couldn't really be considered normal.

The older man fiddled with his hat that was placed a bit sloppily on his head, eyeing up Esme like she was going to explode (who knows, she may have a grenade in her bag).

Sam obeyed her sudden order, freezing his steps. "It's fine."

"No, it's not." Esme's voice came out blank, like her emotions were numbed. "You can't help me."

"What if we can?" Dean's words were weird, yet they were some of the only things Esme had heard him say. But his voice was soft, but it sounded a bit out of character.

Esme shook her head, but she felt resistance when she wanted to speak. Trust was a dangerous thing, and she had learned too well not to depend on someone for too long.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked, but Esme could tell that he already knew that answer.

Silence, one that she chose to occur. She needed to get away, for these people were just slowing her down, she didn't want another scar…

Sam pursed his lips. "Please, we're not gonna hurt you."

"You are hunters, so I presume that you will." Esme spoke with no emotion, for it didn't show her fear that pounding around in her skull. "I'm not going to fight, in fact, I will do anything but. Just please, make it quick, if you decide that it is your choice."

That seemed to have quite the impact of the three, for each stared at Esme with shock. They were obviously debating on what to do with her, and she could sense them leaning towards killing her. But she really didn't have a say in this, for she hated her job, and she couldn't quit until the day she died.

Sam extended a hand, which was quite a brave gesture for the one holding the knife. "I'm Sam."

She didn't shake it, but she answered. "I can't tell you my name."

Sam actually smiled. "Okay, well, that's my brother,Dean." he gestured to the younger man with a cautious frown on his face. "And that's Bobby." He pointed to the man wearing the hat.

"Should you really be telling her our names, son?" Bobby asked, eyeing Esme up as if expecting her to shift into a hellion. "She could be working for them."

"She's not, Ellen already knows who she is." Dean spoke this time, which surprised Esme a bit. She could see his dislike for her, but it was a bit forced, as if he just wanted to kill her and leave without remembering. "She's a Lister."

Silence, tense and thought-filled, silence. Each man was thinking hard, but she could tell they were all thinking about her. Each thought was unique, some even similar to some others she had felt earlier, but she decided to block them, for now at least.

Esme glared at each man. "So, you know how horrible I am."

"We don't, actually. But we do know that you junkies get high over killing." Dean said, flashing a look in Bobby's direction. "Killing you would save a lot of lives."

"But kill hundreds more." The words flew out of her mouth, her mind completely unaware that she had said them. Esme wanted to slap herself, but instead mentally kicked the part of her brain that processed everything that she thought and spoke.

Esme couldn't help but continue. "A Lister is given a list each week, which has the name of a person who must be killed. They costed lives; undercover murders. The only thing they're worthy of is the tortures down in Hell, some don't even deserve that. So kill me if you want to, for I would actually prefer that. So, choose, and I will go along with your choice."

"So, you are a Lister?" Dean asked, his voice a bit curious and confused.

Esme sighed. "Yes, and I hate it. There's no escaping, no changing, for punishment comes for us if we don't punish the punishable."

"Damn, that sounds, bad." Bobby was thinking aloud, and she could see one of his bad habits coming out.

Bobby turned to Sam, who was still rather close to Esme. "What do we do? I mean, she's not fighting."

"Should we, you know…" Sam looked at Esme with pity, and she could see him battling his choices in his mind.

"I'm not stopping you." Esme said, looking up at Sam, then Dean, then Bobby, each who stared at her with that familiar look that people give to their dying relatives.

"What about Cas? Can't he help?" Sam asked.

"The dumbass is off doing who-knows-what nowadays." Dean answered, then started to tap his foot impatiently. He was stressed, probably from the ordeal of Hell venturing onto Earth, or maybe because he brother was having a few problems that he couldn't help with. Either-or, he needed a nap and a few beers.

Bobby spoke to Esme directly, which was the first time he's ever done so. "Could take her to my place."

"Yeah, so she can kill you when you turn your back? I don't think so." Dean snapped.

"What your tone, boy. My house, my rules, my life, my decisions. So but out of it." Bobby glared a bit at Dean, who looked rather offended.

"I only kill who I have to, and I can assure you that you have no right to care about me. I'm a monster, which makes me a target for you hunters." Esme backed a bit away from the group, who was watching her every move intently. "So, I don't care what you do, but don't endanger ourselves more than you already have."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, his voice rising with each word.

Before Esme could even speak a syllable, a loud bang filled the air.

The hunters seemed to have an instinct to drop to the ground, Esme on the other hand, had a different one. If anything, she stood up higher. She listened to the aftereffects of the gunshot; a ringing or a sound of something breaking, but she caught nothing.

"Get down!" Bobby whispered to her, but she ignored him.

"I'm sorry." Esme said, walking towards the windows. She heard Sam say something, but she ignored that too.

She kicked the window, making it shatter into a million pieces. A few screams sounded from below, but she knew that they did no harm, maybe the bits of glass did a little.

She reached upwards, to the ledge that was placed above the window. The men were no longer crouched, but when they tried to get up, another shot rang out. Esme felt that familiar sensation, one that she always got when she felt another Lister around.

At least there were a few advantages of being a Lister. In order to be an assassin, you needed a few skills in order to stay concealed.

Reflexes, good ones. She had that down, after the few years of training and fighting with her father, she had become almost impossibly good at fighting.

Keen senses, which were a bit harder at achieving. She had been through so much trouble to get her senses to get this good! Esme had gone a full month without eating, which not only took it's toll on her physically, but mentally as well. But, she gained a few perks from doing so.

And, the one she hated most, was no hesitation. You kill, you leave, you endure, no matter how badly they pleaded for you to spare them. Esme was still working on that, and each exercise made things even worse.

She was about to climb onto the ledge when she heard Sam say the most peculiar words she had ever heard.

"We could help you."

It hit her with pure force, almost making her fall out of the window. She felt pure truth in his voice, one that was filled with understanding. She hasn't heard that in while, or at all. And she missed that, the emotions that Sam was displaying so purely.

"But we won't stop you, if you want to run. But I can assure you this, you're never really going to be truly safe, for you're very hard to miss." She couldn't see Sam's face, but even over the wind, she could feel his pity.

And then, Esme did the most strangest thing she has ever done.

She listened.

"_LEAVE!_" She shouted to the wind, knowing that whoever was threatening the hunters would hear her. "You have no right to be here!"

She could hear the group start to stand, and the shots suppresses. But she could feel something else leave the area too, something just as pure as Sam's understanding.

_Anger._


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was very uncertain of this situation.

Yes, everyone here has indeed made some very shitty decisions, but this one was getting pretty close to the top of the list (Sam having a one-night-stand with a werewolf was pretty bad, but nowhere near eating gas station sushi). But this girl, well, teenager, was in pretty bad shape, but she was still capable of doing some pretty horrible stuff.

Or at least that's what it looked like.

And of course, Sam was so keen on taking her along for the ride. He even let her ride in the back seat of the Impala! Who knows, she could be bringing around Lister Rabies of something, and she should not be in the car!

He had tried many times to explain this to Sam, but he always one-upped him, and this wasn't the first time something like this has happened.

Sam always insisted on doing what's right, but bringing something that could easily kill them all within a snap, was not doing what right! Sure, she was hardly a teenager, but age doesn't matter. Look at Bobby! He's not the youngest hunter in the world, but he can do the job better than anyone.

But here the two were, bringing home a stray hellhound that wants human flesh, and Sam was completely unaware of doing so.

But that other part of Dean agreed with Sam, if anything, thought better.

The girl looked horrible, and don't even get him started on the strange scars lining her arms. He wondered if they were on her legs, too, by the looks of how she kept every inch of skin covered by fabric, he was right.

She looked young, too. Whatever that means. Freckles covered every inch of her face, and golden-brown hair fell to just below her chin in rivers. She could have even been considered beautiful, if she wasn't wearing her past like a mask.

Her clothes were rather new-looking, which were a bit tomboyish. Black with neon paint splatters covered her jeans and a plain white long sleeved shirt, showed that she was still remotely human with an interest in what she wore. Dean tried not to think about it, but his thoughts somehow always strayed to whether or not she truly was human.

Dean finally had the courage to break the silence that overtook the car hours ago. "So, wanna tell us your name?"

"No."

Dean felt a flash of anger, but he didn't dare show it. "Were you born…like this?"

Dean couldn't see the teen's face, but he could sense her hesitating. "I was born, if that's what you mean."

"I mean, were you born a Lister?" Even Dean noticed that he hesitated over the word "Lister", he didn't even know why! Something about calling someone that was a bit, strange, yet if you take a simple look at her, that was the only word to even close to describing her.

She took a second to answer, Dean took a note of that. "I was born with a curse, and grew up with it. It's like a birth defect, and somehow my parents knew what to do with me."

"Where are they now?" Dean asked, gripping the steering wheel a bit harder.

"Dead, I would've thought you'd of known that."

"We could, if we knew your name."

"False information, or in other words, it is not needed."

"Guys, shut up." Sam said, turning his head to glare at Dean. "But, really, I think we could use a bit of information about who you are."

"Didn't I tell enough?" The teens voice grew unsteady with each word, her sharp icy eyes staring determinedly at each brother.

Dean was about to answer, but Sam cut him off. "There are certain things we need to know, such as your name."

"Not true." She sounded her age now, snapping back with that rebellious teen attitude that they all had. "Names are dangerous, yet they are unneeded."

"Just tell us your name, goddammit!" Dean said, the Impala swerving at bit. Dean felt himself calm a little, mumbling apologies to his baby.

There was a small moment of awkward silence, the one you often get at funerals. But nobody had the guts to break it, even Dean, who hated stuff like this.

"Esme, Esme Fallen." the girl mumbled, and they knew that was then end of the conversation.

**I am very sorry for an grammer typos!**

**If you see any, please report them to me!**

**Reviews and Feedback are love, and encourage me to continue the story!**

**Thank you!**

**-Kbubbles1210**


	3. Chapter 3

Esme hated herself.

She should've never told them her name, for that made her even more vulnerable than before. She could've ran, instead of jumping a ratty car and driving away with them.

She was being such a child.

She felt the urge to jump out of the car, and run away into the woods. But before she could even unlock the door, she felt sleep overcome her. And the next time she opened her eyes, she was in a completely different area.

It was a junkyard, literally. Old cars were stacked everywhere and a few signs were strung up: _Singer Auto_. She assumed, if her assumptions were right, that she was in the home of the older man, Bobby.

"Well, we're here." Dean said, opening his door and slamming it shut. If Esme didn't know better, he was rushing to exit the car.

Sam did the same, and she naturally obeyed their silent orders.

The air was instantly filled with the sound of a dog's angry barks. She scanned the area, and it didn't take her long to find the large rottweiler snarling at them from the top the debris of an old car. She starred in it's eyes, knowing that dominance was the key.

He cowered, but hardly enough to before he jumped off of the car (more like fell off, the lid looked a bit slippery). He didn't get far before the chained leash tugged against his pulls, making him snarl instead at that.

"Esme? Comin'" Dean said, his voice showing a bit of friendliness in it.

She didn't respond, but made her way onto the small front porch of the house. Dean rushed inside, Sam kept at a pace that was similar to her's.

Anyone with eyes could see that Dean didn't like Esme, who didn't really care about what he thought, for she felt the same way about him. Dislike often lead to grudges, and grudges, in Esme's case, sometimes lead to being on her list. She tried, she really did, to think twice about Dean, but it really wasn't that easy.

* * *

><p>Sam loved Bobby's house.<p>

It was strange, but most hunter's houses were like that. Books littered the area, ingredients in jars were placed at random intervals, a few pieces of absent garbage speckled the ground.

Sam saw Bobby arranging a few things on his desk, but he quickly came forward with a flask and a shining knife.

Bobby must've felt Sam's eyes on him. "Just a precaution…"

"What's a precaution?" Esme asked, and Sam could hear of bit of hidden panic in her voice.

"Wanna see if you're a demon, or a shifter. If you ain't, you've got nothin' to worry about." Bobby answered as if it were that simple, but as a hunter, it really was.

Bobby walked forwards to Esme, reaching to lift her sleeve, but she reeled back, staring at Bobby with the same horror a mouse has when it sees a cat.

"What are you doing?" She spoke quickly and fearfully, her voice rushing out with such speed you'd think she'd stumble over her words. "Really? What?"

"Like I said-"

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, cutting Bobby off.

"L-l-let me do it." Esme's voice returned to that almost robotic state as she reached for the holy water and silver knife. "If I'm cutting myself, I think I deserve to do it."

_What a strange answer._ Sam though as he watched Bobby send a look to Dean.

Esme took the knife first, reaching to pull up her sleeve. Sam couldn't hold back a slight gasp as he saw why she covered most of her skin.

Scars ran along her arms, forming words, pictures, and symbols as if she were a human etch-a-sketch. Each slice was thin, but deep and smooth, as if someone had made it from the inside. They were old, as if they had stopped years ago, but they still had that lingering effect, like showing off the horrors that she'd been through.

"Holy…" Dean's voice drifted off as he attempted to read and examine her scars from a long distance. "Did you-?"

"No." Esme answered swiftly, as if finally revealing her scars were a relief. Sam almost wanted to take the knife away from her as she made another cut along her forearm.

She didn't even wince.

Esme sighed as she pulled her sleeve down, taking the scars away with it. She swapped the knife with the holy water, looking at it a bit confused.

"Do I, drink it?" She asked. "Because, I believe I'm still A minor, so if it's alcohol…"

"Holy water." Sam answered. "Pour it on skin, drink it, whichever."

She nodded, uncapping the flask and downing a sip. There was a look of disgust on her face before she pulled it away, gasping and gagging.

"What the hell? Salt?"

There was a moment of weird silence as the hunters waited for something to happen, but all they got was a couching teenager who kept gawking at them.

"Well," Bobby said, getting everybody's attention. "not a demon, or ghost, or shifter, or whatever. So now's the fun part."

Esme finished the sentence for him. "Interrogation."

They placed Esme on the couch, which was fairly old and somehow smelled like herbs, and played the waiting game.

She was the one waiting, but they had all went into the kitchen and talked for a while. Esme didn't feel the urge to eavesdrop, she just wanted to see what they wanted from her, and then leave.

She was about to grab one of the books that were in a pile in the corner when the guys returned. Sam grabbed a chair from the table, Dean positioning himself against the wall, and Bobby on the corner of his desk.

Sam turned the chair around so that the front was the part he was leaning against, or in other words, he sat in it (logically) the wrong way.

"So, ready?"

"To have my ears burned out with questions? Yep." She sighed, leaning back on the couch. She knew she shouldn't have felt so comfortable, but the place had a strange aura that made her feel at home. Esme hardly knew what "home" was, for she hardly ever had a real one.

Sam shifted himself a bit straighter on the chair. "So, first things first, why are you alone?"

Esme didn't have to think long. "Parents are dead, mother captured and killed by angry vampires, dad murdered to kidnap me. I got out, ran, and continued to survive until I came across the The Assassins."

"The Assassins?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows so high Esme thought they would go into his hair. "As in, psychopathic killers under the shadows of night?"

"Basically, yes."

"Did you join 'em?" Bobby asked.

"Translation; are you still with them? Nope." She got a few suspicious looks from her "friends", but Sam continued to ask another question.

"What happened? After and before you, um, met them?" She noticed he chose his words carefully.

"The Assassins are a league of high profile killers, targeting the rich and killing the righteous. My being a Lister made their killing easy, due to me being an, um, natural-born killer, it made their targets more vulnerable." Esme felt a bit, well, bad answering their questions willingly. She wasn't supposed to be so open with them, especially with hunters.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

Esme sighed. "It's hard to explain, but overall, it's not nice. When I get a target, I have every right over killing them or not. But if I don't, I wake up to scars and scoldings carved into my skin. If I do kill them, I don't get the agony."

"So you don't just, go around killing people daily for kick?" Dean sounded a bit disappointed.

"I hate what am, Dean, and every person I kill is another bit of humanity that fades away. But sometimes, the pain gets so bad that it's unbearable anymore." Esme's voice broke, and she didn't feel the urge to continue anymore.

She could feel the different emotions in the room; sadness, pity, even a small bit of anger. I weighed in the air, bringing her own emotions to the floor.

There was a strange tap noise, two of them, like feet stepping onto the floor. There were the emotions of another, and then the essence of life altogether.

"Dammit Cas!" Dean yelled, who was obviously surprised by the man who had just appeared in the middle of the room. "I'm swear, I will put a bell on you if-"

"Hi Cas." Sam cut his brother off, greeting the strange teleporting man. "Nice of you to come."

Esme let herself get a good look at the guy. He looked almost average, like someone of great importance. His brown hair was trimmed short and a bit business-like, and his wore a trench coat. Esme has only seen about 3 of those in her life, and they looked a bit weird. But the guy wore it well, as if it were part of his personality.

Esme knew this was Cas, which was a strange name for someone who looked so, battle worn. She had no idea how to describe him, no words seemed to fit. His almost determined face seemed to show the many things he has seen in his lifetime, as if he had lived for millions of years.

Cas turned to look at Esme, who raised her eyebrows at him. Cas didn't glare at her, but instead looked at her curiously.

"Who is the girl?" He asked, returned to look at Dean.

It was Bobby who answered, though. "A damn Lister."

Cas made a sudden movement, as if he had spotted a ghost. "You should not have interfered with a Lister, Dean, for you have no idea what she could have done."

"It was Sam's idea!" Dean protested, sounding like a true child for a man at least in his thirties. "He was so persuaded to bring her here!"

"She's just a kid." Sam started to glare at Dean.

"I'm 15, and I have ears!" Esme said, looking at the brothers hard and firm. "Keep that in mind, for I am not as dumb as you'd think."

She didn't feel anger coming off Cas. In fact, she hardly felt any emotions coming off him. That worried her a bit when he spoke.

"Dean, Sam, Bobby, Listers are not to be tampered with."

"She has information!" Dean said, and Esme knew he wished he had kept his mouth shut.

"Indeed I do, so if that's what you wanted, you could've had the nerve to say it. Because I'm supposed to be in Seattle right now, and clearly I'm anywhere but." Esme felt pure anger for the first time in a while. Had she been tricked? Was she really that naive to be tricked?

She felt the air grew heavy, so she calmed herself down. That happened often, or whenever she grew overwhelmed. It was strange, and the things that often happened next were even stranger. She resorted to never overwhelming herself again, but it wasn't as easy as it sounded.

"So," Sam said, looking around the room quickly before returning his gaze on Esme. "overall, why is being a Lister so bad?"

"What, you want to be one?" Esme asked, raising her eyebrows.

"No!" Sam quickly said. "Just, curious."

"Do you want an honest answer?" Esme asked, and when Sam nodded, she continued. "Alright, the truth is, it's hell."

"I would've thought it'd be awesome; going around murdering people whenever you want. That is what you lot like doing, right?" Dean spoke rather rudely, but Esme wasn't offended.

She was a bit angry herself. "There is no 'us', just those who are cursed or born like this. And I can assure you, Dean, I hate every second that my heart beats. So whatever you think I'm gonna do, is never gonna happen. I kill, when I'm forced to, I run, when my instincts tell me to.  
>"So, do you want to kill me? I'm not stopping you. For my life and your life would probably be a lot better without me in it. I am not persuading you to do or not do anything, I accept your choices or I go along with them. For I have no right to go against them."<p>

The hunters seemed to be considering her words, whereas Cas got straight to the point, whatever that was.

"We have a few, requests for you to do. Ones that only a Lister could bring to pass."

Esme stood up from off the couch, despite her legs demanding that she sit back down. "Will this result in the lives of others being lost?"

"Most definitely, but these are just a few more to add to your list, correct?"

"No, you are anything but." Esme crossed her arms, bearing her eyes down into Cas'. "I kill when I need to, and then I live with the nightmares that come after. I do not feed the monster that I am, I keep it alive."

"Why, if you hate it so much?" Dean asked.

Esme had considered that question so many times, and she knew that her answer was at least reasonable, but it wasn't as honest as she would like it to be.

"There are so many horrible people in this world. As hunters, I would think you'd know that. And Listers are one of the many ways we can get them out. Yes, I know what you're thinking; murder isn't the only option. That is true, but some are not worthy of a second chance." Esme finished, her words having an impact on those around her. She could feel it in the air, like fog that only those who listened would see it.

None of these guys were them.

"Wait a second," Esme looked at Cas confused. "I think it's my turn to ask a few questions."

"Go for it." Dean said, his voice father friendly for someone who had just attempted to intimidate her.

"Cas is a really strange name for a man who looks of great importance. And, how'd you get in here? The door isn't open. And, why are you friends with a hunter? Aren't hunters only friends with other hunters? So, does this mean-"

"Hey, hey, hey! Slow down hotshot." Bobby coaxed, making Esme shut her mouth so hard she bit her tongue. "One question."

Esme thought about that for a second, finally finding one question that could probably answer all of them. "Who are you?"

Cas looked ready to give a pep talk to a team of disappointed baseball players. "My name is Castiel, and I am angel of the lord."

"He gave me that one when he met me." Dean said, giving Cas, well, Castiel a look worthy of a soccer mom.

"Wait, lord? As in, god?" Esme felt a bit dumb, mostly because she was letting her guard down.

"Yes, yet it is uncertain of his whereabouts." Cas answered.

"And by angel, I assume you mean it literally?"

Castiel nodded. "There are many of us, for we-"

Castiel couldn't continue, for the loud banging on the door silenced them all.

**Don't forget, review and feedback makes me smile (I'm such a good-two-shoes, don't need to tell me twice)!**


	4. Chapter 4

The hunters all looked at Esme, as if the bang on the door was her fault.

Nobody spoke, but instead got their weapons ready. Dean flashed her a look, one that clearly was supposed to make her stay still. Naturally, her instincts kicking in, she stood up and glared at him.

"Sit your ass down!" Dean whispered frantically, his hand waving at her and couch.

Esme shook her head, reaching into her pocket to grab her own weapon. She pulled out a cylinder, one that only about the size of a pen.

"What the hell?" Dean said. "This is not the time for smoking!"

"It's not a lighter, nor a cigar." Esme explained. "I don't smoke either. It's a bow."

Dean looked so stupid, his face in some sort of angry confusion. "How?"

"It's also a knife, and a sword."

Esme pressed a button, one out of the 4, and it extended, morphed, and shaped into a full compound bow. She heard Sam gasp, and Dean mumble something like "jackass".

"Don't you need, I dunno, _arrows_?" Bobby said, looking cautiously at Esme.

She nodded, just as there was another bang on the door. Dean raised his gun higher, and Sam started creeping towards the door.

It was absolute silence, despite the strong banging hitting the door. Esme knew that it's wooden feature wouldn't hold what was outside it. For she was familiar with the ones who harnessed those abilities, for she was one.

"You cannot fight the one who is waiting outside that door." Esme said, pressing the slit in the bow so that is shifted back into a thin cylinder.

"Do you know what is outside the door?" Sam asked, his voice coming out quickly.

"Can't you feel it?" Esme asked, looking at each man. "That, _power_, that's in the air?"

Esme was a bit surprised when Castiel responded. "She is right, whatever is waiting will not go down easily."

"Doesn't mean it can't go down." Dean snapped, as another bang rang out.

"Dean, this is not a fight you can win, let alone survive. _Back, down_." Esme spoke sharply, finally getting Dean to look at her. His face was determined, and she could he was prepared to fight.

"Dean." Sam said. "Bobby's got a back exit."

"C'mon ye idjits! Do you wanna die an idiot, or a hero?" Bobby said, looking at Dean with irritation. "Don't be a dumbass, Dean, we gotta get outta here."

Dean hesitated, the gun he was holding slowly drifting towards his pocket. He bit his lip, so hard that Esme expected it to bleed later. Dean made an agitated sound before switching the safety on his gun, and shoving it in his waistband.

"C'mon let just-"

There was a bang, one louder than the rest have ever been. The sound of foot-on-wood, and then the sound of a chuckle.

"Well, isn't this a hunter's house."

Esme gasped. She knew that voice too well, and it was bad news.

"Guy, you may want to get out now." She turned around, facing the hunters, all of which were getting ready to fight. "Now!"

That seemed to do it. Castiel grabbed onto a limb of each man, none of which seemed unphased by it. Castiel reached towards Esme, who backed away.

"No, I've got a job to do."

"Esme-" Sam started, but she cut him off.

"No, go."

Cas didn't think twice. He concentrated on a place that each man knew well. And they were off, leaving Esme with whatever had broken down the door.

And Esme was glad.

* * *

><p>Sam felt his feet his the ground hard, making him stumble forward with a lot of force. If it weren't for Cas' firm grip on his shoulder, he would've flown into the dried grass, getting a large meal of sun-kissed dirt.<p>

Sam mumbled a thanks, but was instantly filled with remorse.

They'd left Esme without a second glance, as if she was just a rock they'd been carrying around in their pockets. She hadn't sacrificed herself, nor did she fight, she just told them to leave.

Sam turned to Cas, feeling anger rise up in him. "Cas! Why'd you leave her!"

Cas obviously saw his anger, but he didn't yell back. "I will return to get her."

"Then why did you leave in the first place?"

"Because we all would've died if we stayed. For the girl-"

"Esme!"

"-was not lying." Cas ignored Sam's cut-off, but he still kept a firm gaze on him. "That was another Lister, one with far more dangerous abilities than the girl, um, Esme."

There was the sound of a door slamming shut, and someone rushing towards them. Sam didn't even have to look to see who it was.

"What's goin' on? Did you find the Lister?" Ellen said, who was closely followed by her daughter, Jo.

Bobby grimaced. "Hell we found her."

Jo nodded at Dean, who nodded back. Dean was glad to see her again, though he had other thought on his mind than pick-up lines.

Ellen, saw the grim looks on the men's faces, and then her own appeared on her face. "What happened?"

Dean flashed a look at Sam, who pursed his lips. Despite Sam's anger at Cas, and annoyance with Dean, he apologized to Castiel.

Cas nodded, before speaking once again. "I shall return, but right now I have to go back."

"Go back where?" Bobby asked, but Castiel was already gone.

* * *

><p>Esme hated the face that was looking at her now, even though it was beautiful.<p>

Helena Moretz stood with such posture for someone who always had blood on their hands. Weapons of every heritage of nationality were hung, sheathed, and belted along her body. Her jet black hair was ombre, with neon pink tips to match her assassins uniform.

Her outfit looked like something straight out of a videogame, complete with the detail so good it looked fake and intimidating chains strung around it. A dagger was strapped to her inner elbow, and a gun was in a holster near her waist.

"Child, you were told to complete your contract in Seattle." Helena said, her voice as melodic as her features. "Why are you hidden in this hunters hideaway?"

Esme unsheathed her own weapon, it shifting into a dagger. She held it ready.

Helena smiled, revealing perfect teeth. "Now, now, Esme, you have no reason to unsheath your weapon, now do you?"

"I have plenty." Esme snarled, lifting her knife up even more. "And I can think of plenty more."

Then smile on Helena's face blew away; slowly drifting off of her perfect complexion. "Esme, we need you."

"I'm done killing, Helena. I'm done."

"But you like it, and as a Lister, you don't really have a choice." Helena's voice always seemed to come out perfect, but overall, each of her emotions sounded fake. "Killing is in your blood, it keeps your soul pure."

Esme didn't respond, for she knew what was next.

She lunged forwards, aiming for the small bit of skin slipping out of her armor. Her knife felt like an extension of her, and after years of training and practice, she knew how and where to strike.

Helena was surprised, and Esme couldn't blame her. Esme never strikes first, unless she has to kill. Nor has she ever been hostile towards Helena, and the anger that flowed through her blood like fire was fueling her to compel.

Helena was hit with the force of Esme's strike, and she had no time to dodge. Pain sliced her arm, right where her gloves ended and her uniform started.

Esme fell to the ground, only to swing her leg towards Helena's feet. Helena dodged this attack, for she had seen it many times.

Esme didn't let that stop her. She bounded up to her feet, and aimed a punch at Helena's head.

Helena caught Esme's fist in the air, grabbing her own knife to add another scar to Esme's collection. It plunged into her flesh, sending hell into her bloodstream.

Esme screamed, gripping at the knife that kept going down. She thrashed against Helena's strong arms, but to no avail.

"Stop!"

Helena obeyed, probably out of surprised than anything. She threw the child towards the wall, which wasn't hard, for she was weak and wounded.

Esme's vision swam, and the pain threatened to consume her. She was shocked to see how bad this hurt, but she was sure her and pain had made an agreement years ago. She pulled the knife out of her arm, only to see it covered in her blood.

Esme lifted it to her nose, and was greeted with the smell of something that was too much like cleaner. She was about to settle on Helena covering her knife in bleach, but started to go over all the different poisons the Assassins used.

She knew this one, for she had used it a few times herself. It was Ivy, and not the kind that crept along the side of houses.

It inflicted pain, period. If it got into your bloodstream, it would hurt like hell. It would fade away later, but during that time would be a painful experience.

Never had Esme felt the effects of Ivy, but she knew they were horrific. It was literal pain being placed into your bloodstream, and the results often included shock, nightmares, and hallucinations. But Esme also knew how to fight it and to shorten the time of the effects.

Helena snarled, literally, looking at the man who stood with confrontation.

Esme sighed, for she knew that face too; Castiel.

She was instantly reminded of him leaving her. But also the fact that he had listened, partially. He looked exactly like he did when he left, or to be more specific, teleported. She was a bit surprised that he had actually disappeared, and she assumed that he had appeared somewhere else, for he no longer had Sam, Dean, and Bobby.

Castiel looked at her with concern, but she suppressed that matter by lifting her hand up in hello. Esme thought she probably looked weird, laying on the floor with pain in her eyes and a knife wound oozing blood out rabidly. But all she could concentrate on was the assassin standing with anger radiating off her.

"Angel!" Helena snarled, wiping a bit of blood on her face, courtesy of Esme. "I could sense you miles away!"

Esme had, but only when Castiel had started to appear. But instead of expressing that matter, she snapped at Helena. "Helena, piss off!"

Helena turned to Esme, her face no longer attractive, but contaminated with anger. "You have _no right_ to talk to me like that!"

"She has every." Castiel's steady voice sounded through the room. "And I believe that you have other things to do."

"Yes, kill or receive her." Helena said, looking at Castiel with a dangerous smirk. "But I do not think that this is the right time."

Castiel said nothing, but instead watched as Helena made her way to the door. But what she didn't know, was that Cas was debating on whether or not to kill her.

Cas was no killer, but in order to protect an innocent, he was ready to do anything. But something held him back, something that he could only think was the right thing to do.

Then, Helena was gone, washing away with the wind that was blowing outside.

"Thanks Cas," When he looked at Esme, she was cradling her arm, which was bleed profusely. "But I think I'm gonna need stitches."

* * *

><p>Dean was downing every drink that Jo handed him, ignoring the looks that Ellen and Bobby were giving him.<p>

Stress was one thing that didn't always agree with Dean. He often did anything to suppress the stress, whether it be drinking until the world spins, or a bit of angry sex. Stress was, well, unforgiving, and it got in the way a bit too much for Dean's liking.

There was a swishing noise, and the sound of feet-on-wood. Dean looked up to see Cas, with Esme leaning on him heavily.

Sam swore, already rushing forwards to help Esme to a chair. Dean couldn't help but feel like a bitch for just sitting in his own chair instead of helping, but he was too intoxicated to do anything about it.

"Cas, what happened?" Sam asked, looking at Esme's forearm, which was bleeding at a rather fast pace. Esme was not enjoying this at all, nobody would, unless you were a vampire and you liked the taste of your own blood…

"Helena." Esme winced, dabbing at arm with a towel. "She used Ivy, a poison signature to the Assassins."

"The Assassins?" Ellen asked skeptically. "Ivy? Dammit you guys, what's in Hell's name in going on here?"

Jo gave Dean a look, one that was probably trying to imply that he had a lot to discuss about. He returned the look, but it was probably just a sloppy attempt at a glare.

Dean wasn't too drunk, but enough that his mood was way too happy for the situation. He wasn't about to pass out, nor do anything else that would get him a beating. So Dean took a moment to clear his head (he didn't do too well), and began to explain.

Well, join in on 30 questions.

"Cas, what happened?" He asked, repeating Sam's words.

Castiel looked at Dean with a look a lot like Jo's. "Are you intoxicated?"

"No." Dean snapped.

Sam let out an irritated sigh. "Esme, what happened after we...left."

She started rubbing her cut, which probably hurt like hell. "Helena Moretz is high in the barracks of the Assassins." She looked at Ellen, who looked like she had just been hit but a bucket. "The Assassins are, well, assassins. They mostly consist of Listers, but most of us were already killed or sent to Hell to become demons. We are given contracts, ones that are told to either die or sent to Hell. We live for orders, or die fulfilling them."

"So, are you following your orders?" Jo asked, looking at Esme nervously.

Esme looked away from the hunters, as if she were having trouble processing the question. "No, I left."

Sam was speaking to Cas, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. Dean noticed that his hand was on Esme's arm, but it wasn't healing like it should've been.

Esme didn't seem to notice when she continued. "I'm trying not to do contracts anymore, but it isn't easy to ignore."

She lifted her sleeve up, revealing the hundreds of scars that lined her arms. Dean thought he could see words in them, messages, but he was still getting over his "small" bit of drinking.

"Yeah they form words." Esme said. "Sometimes, and not all of them."

_Really? Like...hand-carved messages sculptured into flesh? _Dean thought stupidly as he attempted to read and form letters.

"Why do you have them?" Ellen asked, her voice growing hesitant, just like every other time when she was nervous or reaching a point that often resulted in a gunshot.

"Whenever I don't perform a contract, I get a series of slices that eventually turn into scars by the next day. It's like a punishment, but me and pain made an agreement years ago." Esme answered casually, which was a bit weird in Dean's processing system.

Castiel removed his hand from Esme's arm, a look of confusion on his face. "Why can't I heal you?"

"The poison," Esme said, a sorry look on her face. "it is used for pain that of equivalent to the kind in Hell. There is no stopping it, no healing the wounds that it makes."

"Looks like we're doing this the hard way." Bobby said, pulling out a roll of bandages from his pocket.


	5. Chapter 5

Esme wasn't used to being around so many people that knew so much.

It was like standing in water; whenever you moved, the water would try to push you in another direction. Everyone had a job here, a task, everyone except Esme.

The name John Farr kept swirling around her head. It was her next contract. He was a man who had a relatively normal life; he went to work, came home, ate dinner, checked to see if his child trafficking ring was still active…

Knowing this man's whole life, even though she had never met him, was like a violation of space. Esme knew all his secrets, all his fears, but she could only used those if she succeeded in ending his life. It wasn't a nice thing to think about, but it floating around her mind and leading her thought in the completely opposite direction.

Castiel had left, going off do whatever angel business servants of god got. He hadn't said goodbye, but eyed Esme up as if attempting to memorize her form. She would put money on it that he could sketch a perfect photo of her face within ten minutes, which would be amazing, but slightly creepy nonetheless.

She had met Ash, whose appearance didn't affect his skills at all, but surely left Esme staring. He had refused to open his "office door" until someone called him Doctor Badass, which Esme thought was completely irrelevant. His hair was...interesting, and looked like something out of the 80's.

But all Esme could think about was _him_.

Helena was her only way of getting to him. He was missing, lost, but not on this world. Hell, she wouldn't put it passed him. Heaven, hell no! He was strong, fast, impossible to contain, but he was also her brother, and he meant everything to her.

But he had done something, and failed, that lead him to this situation.

She squeezed the wound on her arm, sending pain much like fire through it. Esme winced, not from the pain, but the fact that she probably just delayed a large amount of healing.

She felt Ellen coming over, which confused her. Why would Ellen be talking to her? She was the creature that she was supposed to be hunting, which was probably a violation of "hunter rights" or something. Expecting Ellen to walk past her, she was almost frightened when she sat down in the bar stool next to her.

"So," Ellen said, beginning the interrogation that hunters tended to do so often. "you're the monster that we're huntin'?"

"Monster is an accurate term, that's for sure." Esme said, not looking from her spot in the table.

"Why do you say that?" Ellen asked. Esme really wished she hadn't.

Esme sighed, looking up into Ellen's eyes, which was way harder than she expected. "I deserve to be hunted."

"Why?" Ellen said it sharply, but her voice was bland and soft; a strange combination.

"I kill, period. I murder, and I enjoy it."

"Do you?" Ellen said, her voice unusually soft. "Really, does it make you feel...buzzed? Ending lives is enjoyable? Or do you not really know how it makes you feel?"

Esme thought about that. She hadn't really considered it before, mostly because nobody asked her. She _was _a killer, and she had ending all those lives. But she also saved many, but in the cost of another.

Was she really doing good?

Or is really a monster?

* * *

><p>Esme was really concealed her live, hidden it deep within the hundreds of other secrets she had. Sam knew secrets, and he also knew what they do to people.<p>

He also knew what it was like to be a monster.

He had killed, both the bad and the good. He had ended innocent, and revived the guilty, saved the unworthy, banished the saved. He had done terrible things, most that would definitely get him a one-way trip straight to Hell.

Sam knew what it was like to have blood on your hands, but Esme had way more.

He hated himself thinking like that. His thoughts had taken a dark turn after Esme had admitted more about herself. She hadn't hesitated, or maybe she had and was just really good at hiding it. But the truth seemed to stop halfway out when she spoke, like her mind didn't allow herself to speak the secrets that burrowed deep into her sorrows at night.

Esme _was _a talented person. Her skills with combat, and abilities to hide emotions, neither were really not something to be proud of, but something to keep in mind and use later in tough situations. Sam couldn't help but admire her for that, but that also struck a lot more in his mind.

Did Esme have a family? Surely she had to have, everybody did, whether they were dead or a bunch of dicks. What about life before, or during, or after her Lister-ing? She was still hardly the age of 15, and had many years of life left to live. What would she do with all that time? Would she always be stuck killing? Or is this a burden that she could lift off her shoulders at any time?

"Question, you have a lot of them."

Sam almost knifed her, but he resisted. Esme was standing near him, looking at him with sad curiosity. Did she always look sad, or was that just the light in the room?

"Hey." Sam said casually, moving a chair for her to sit on. "Yeah, I guess I do have questions."

It took a lot of power to hold back even more questions as Esme went over to sit in the chair. She looked almost scared of it, like there was a bomb pasted to the side. But she sat in it anyways, avoiding Sam's eyes for a moment.

Esme sighed, looking at Sam with longing, as if she was remembering someone or something. Just when Sam was about to ask why she was looking at him like that, she spoke.

"I really shouldn't be talking about this." She said, her voice weak yet somehow sharp. "I'm looking for my older brother, who got himself in some trouble before he disappeared. That mixed with my...thing...isn't really cooperative."

Sam knew why she had been looking at him like that. Dean was the older brother, and the one that more, well, dickier then Sam. But they were family, and they knew that it was like to lose some.

Esme continued. "He's probably in Hell. Soul, body, all of him. Not in Heaven, the angel probably would've known that. But I have a job to do, and I need to find him, for he may be the only way to cure me from..._this_."

_This_. She snarled the word like fire.

"Where was he last?" Sam asked, choosing his words carefully.

"Um...Washington D.C., I think." Esme said. "He was hunting, kind of a thing after his friend got killed by an angry spirit."

"Why weren't you with him?"

Esme hesitated, for the first time that her emotions were actually vulnerable. "I ran away, um, contract. Damn, I had gone a full month without doing one, and I still failed..." Her voice trailed off.

Sam could tell that they were reaching a sore subject. Esme didn't seem like the person that would have a weak spot, she was always so blank, so determined. Yet here she was, her voice growing weak and trailing away completely.

Sam knew he shouldn't feel pity for her, but he did.

"What's it like, killing a contract?" the question slipped out, and he almost slapped a hand over his mouth.

Esme's eyes fell to the floor. "It's like a...relief. I could never fully explain it, but it feels like someone had just sucked a bunch of fire from your blood. You feel, purified, free from something that had been contaminating you for years."

"So, it's not just kicks?" Sam asked dumbly.

"No." She said simply, and Sam knew that the conversation was over.

* * *

><p>Castiel felt hesitation as he entered Heaven.<p>

He had a lot on him mind, which normally never did anything to his performance, but finding a Lister was more then enough to make him stumble a bit.

Heaven was not one place, but a series of millions of others. Heaven did not pertain to one area, but consisted of others.

Heaven could be someone's favorite bowling alley, or a spot in the woods that an old treehouse was built. It was also a precious memory, or a dream that made you wake up feeling good. Heaven was a place for paradise, a place for the dead to live in once again.

But only in their worlds, which consisted of great things that made your afterlife enjoyable. Peace, the only word for a place like this, peace…

Castiel had no idea what his Heaven would be like. His emotions weren't very complex, rather simple if you think about it, and that often resulting in him not feeling the emotions that made one human.

Castiel _wasn't _human, as far as he was aware. He was an angel, a servant, a soldier. He followed orders, whether they were his, god's, or the Winchesters.

He stood in field, one that consisted of a rather large amount of flowers. The air was filled with floral scents, and Castiel thought this was a nice Heaven.

But the woman who stood across from him prevented him from admiring it any longer.

Castiel knew her, every angel did. She was rather beautiful wearing an intimidating set of armor and a large gun strapped to her back. Her light hair was cut short and ragged, like the barber had cut it with his eyes closed. Her eyes were piercing like ice from the coldest spot in the world, and her face had scars from her many battles.

She had a reputation that most angels recoiled upon hearing.

"Marjorie." Castiel said, allowing her to know that he had her attention. "What brings you to Heaven?"

"I could say the same to you, Castiel." her voice was steady, which was strange for a woman of many horrors.

"You summoned me."

"I _invited _you." Marjorie said as she pursed her lips carefully, as if she didn't want to mess up the lipstick that was applied perfectly.

Castiel had no idea how to respond with that, so he asked another question. "I have other matters to attend to."

"Such as interrogating that young Lister." Marjorie said, her voice as steady and sharp as every. "She is not your business, nor the Winchesters'."

"She is different, and has information that is rather useful." Castiel said.

"Different, is not always good, but dangerous." Marjorie said. "She had a lot on her shoulders."

"She's hardly a teenager-"

"Age doesn't matter."

"-and should not have to deal with this curse." Castiel's voice was beginning to loose it's steadiness, just like every other time when he was starting to grow uneasy. "You have a way."

"No, I do not." Marjorie began twisting a flower in her hands. "But there may be a way."

"Tell me." Castiel commanded, attempting to release his anger in a calm matter. "You could save lives."

Marjorie peeled each petal from the flower, dropping them to the ground. Not all of them reached to dirt, though, some blew in the wind like wisps. "She kills the killers."

"No teenager, nor any human at all, should have a job like that." Castiel said.

"She is no human." Marjorie snarled the words, yet somehow her voice had still managed to stay bland and flat.

"She used to be." Castiel responded. "And she still has a bit of humanity left inside her."

"But do you really want to help her?" Her mouth twisted into a pitiful smile. "You could leave her, let her live her own life, doing what she was born to do. You will not have blood on your hands-"

"What do you know about blood on hands?" Castiel snapped, which was really uncharacteristic of him.

Marjorie raised her eyebrows. "I practically _invented _bloodied hands, Castiel, so don't tell me I don't know what it is."

Castiel felt no need to argue, let alone conversation, with this woman. She had no right to be here or in Heaven, for she was violating both her kind and the angels.

Marjorie was no woman to tamper with. She was the master of kill, the creator of hunt, the comer of blood. She ruled all things that ended in lives being ended, whether that meant killing or causing death.

She was no Lister.

She was worse.


	6. Chapter 6

Esme stared up at the night sky, trying lazily to count each star above her. She hated herself for being so soft, and she was about ready to grab her knife and stab herself for doing so.

She could feel the eyes of the hunters in the Roadhouse behind her. It must've looked weird from inside; a girl laying on the ground, her arms spread around her like she was a withered corpse. But the warm weather made her feel more awake, and her thoughts kept swirling around her head.

John Farr, god that name was so familiar. Each contract she got felt familiar, for most of them were either famous or well-known. His whole life was in her hands, and she was hungry to end it.

Esme hated thinking like that, but it wasn't easy.

Something cracked in the woods, the sound snapping through the air like a muffled gunshot.

She flew to her feet, taking out her weapon and extending it to a sword. She held her ground, spacing her stance, and leaned on her senses.

It certainly wasn't John Farr, but a guy whose blood was almost the same.

"Demon." She mumbled to herself.

It wasn't aware that she knew exact where it hiding, she intended to keep it that way. Demons were liars, traitors, double-crossers, and stupid. But overall, they knew how get people killed, which for a demon, was great.

Her first intention was to go out there and shoot it with an arrow.

There could be more, which was most-likely. Or it could be a trap, which was even _more _likely. Whenever it seems that you got demons in mind, they switch, changing their behaviours into something else. She was familiar with their ways, and knew everything about them, but that didn't mean she couldn't hate them.

So, she put on her acting shoes...or whatever that expression was, and set to work.

She sighed, mumbled incoherent words more to the demon than herself. It had to be sure that she was just tired or a lazy teenager.

He was in for a surprise.

She pressed the side of her weapon and it sheathed the sword. She slipped it back into her shoe (**AN: strange place to put stuff, but I do it all the time *wink***) and made her way to the Roadhouse.

It should've attacked her by now, and if it didn't, that meant that there were more of them.

The hunters inside all turned to look at her as she barged in. Dean got up immediately, his signature "what have you been doing?" look.

The words rushed out, but they didn't sound panicked or nervous, but impatient.

"There's a demon outside." Esme said, her voice more casual than she wanted it to be. "Just thought you'd want to-"

"What?" Dean said, glaring at her suspiciously. "How do you know? You talked to it didn't you? God I knew-"

"No," Esme glared back. "I hate demons, _hate them_."

Bobby appeared out of nowhere, and for a man at his age, that was impressive. "Did you see 'em?"

Esme shook her head.

"Then how did you know it was there?" Dean was _all _questions today, but no answers. "Is this one of your weird 'Lister things'?"

"You don't even know what my 'Lister things' are."

"Hey," Bobby stopped the two, glaring more at Dean than her. "now's not the time. We've got a damn demon outside."

"Jo," Ellen addressed to her daughter, who was watching the conversation between the three unfold with annoyed eyes. When her name was said, she snapped back in action.

"get the salt and guns, we don't know how many are out there."

"I'd say 10, all young, all stupid." Esme got a few shocked looks from the hunters. "Trust me."

"Don't think that's going to happen." Dean mumbled, following Jo to gather the guns. Esme felt a bit bad that he didn't trust her, but it would only bite him the ass later.

Ash, who was passed out on the pool table, made a strangled sound like a dog choking on it's slobber. He looked comfortable on the table, which Esme admired to a great extent, she wished to she could sleep as well as that.

_Screw the nightmares._

* * *

><p>Sam was used to demons.<p>

His whole life pretty much revolved around them; Azazel, Ruby, Crowley, it was rather daunt the amount of demons that came across him and Dean's path.

It wasn't a surprise when Esme walked in saying there were some waiting outside.

She had said it so casually, but Sam could see a sense of familiarity in her voice. He had learned to take hints from people, reading one's emotions and seeing what make their "perfect posture" falter. He wouldn't really call it a talent, but more a necessity.

Esme had always been really hard to read. She always looked sad or lost, maybe even a mixture of both. She was still a teenager, and nobody her age, let alone anyone else, should even know about demons. Esme shouldn't even know the feeling of blood on her hands, or the guilt that came after ending someone's death.

Bobby was saying something. Sam caught none of it, but when people started drawing their weapons and patrolling the Roadhouse, he followed suit.

Dean came out with a few guns and Jo was carrying huge bags of salt. Dean grabbed one and started pouring the grains along the windows. He did it fast, for he was used to doing so after having to for many years. Sam tore his eyes off him and started reloading his weapon with the ammo Ellen had set out.

Ash had finally woken up, or at least enough to hold a gun in hands and lean against the bar. Sam was resisting the urge to go dump a bucket of ice on his head to wake him up fully, something like this was not a good time to be hungry for sleep.

Bobby was watching the windows intently, the normal for an old hunter like him. Sam and Dean had learned to rely on him, not only for hospitality, but for comfort and sometimes the occasional supply of ammo and bullets.

The only one who didn't seem ready was Esme.

Sure, she had one of the best combat stances Sam had ever seen, but her eyes were glazed. She was obviously lost in thought, and Sam wondered what she was thinking about.

"You alright?" He asked.

He didn't expect her to jump so badly.

"Yes." Her words were tense, like knifes were rising up her throat.

"You don't have to fight this." Sam said, more for himself than her.

Esme started twiddling with her cylinder, which was now an ornamental knife. It shone from the sun leaking through the window shades. "Of course I do, they followed me."

"You know that can't possibly be true."

"It is Sam, trust me, I know."

Sam had no idea what that could possibly mean, and he didn't feel like it was his business to ask.

Esme answered anyways.

"They have my brother."

Sam didn't hide his shock, and somehow Dean had managed to "salt" his way over to the two. His eyes widened as he placed the salt down and pointed an accusing finger at Esme.

"Wait...brother?" He looked like someone had just slapped him, and that person would most likely be Sam, or at least in a few minutes…

They must've reached a sore spot, for she collapsed into a bar stool. She gripped her cylinder-weapon. "Yeah."

"Is that why," Dean bit is lip nervously, looking at Sam as if asking _Should I ask her?_

Sam glared at him, pursing his lips angrily. _No!_

Dean didn't catch it.

"you...kill people?"

Esme didn't show any emotion, but Sam knew she was hiding it. She was a master at that, anyone with eyes could see it. "No."

"Why did they take him?" Sam wasn't fully aware that the question had come out, the words just sort-of...flew.

Esme hesitated. Hesitated! When it came to revealing secrets, or more specifically, secrets about family, Sam did the same thing. He knew that her brother must've told her some pretty useful stuff, which had to the the reason she didn't trust them at all when she first met them. Sam felt the same way about Dean. When he had gone to Hell...he hated thinking about it...he had done some pretty dark stuff to get him out. Even working with a demon, which went just as well as it sounds.

Dean had always looked at him differently after that.

Sam knew what it was like to feel like your family was lost, and he could see that Esme was feeling the same way. He didn't know what type of a person her brother was, but he wished he was here to thank him. Having a sister like Esme must've been hard, especially one with her "situation".

Esme did something that Sam never expected would happen.

She started carving with her knife in the tabletop.

* * *

><p>When Esme's lower lip started to tremble, Dean was ready for her to cry.<p>

Dean had never liked when people cried, and he hated to admit it, he had been one of those people a few times. Even a few of the people who Sam and him had "interrogated" during their cases had bursted into tears.

It had always made him uncomfortable, especially when they had one of those sobs that was filled with mucus and spit.

He was ready to think of a few comforting compliments when Esme started showing signs of oncoming tears, but then she did what he never would've predicted.

She began carving on the bar, which made Ellen yelp and scream for her to stop. But when she asked for Esme to put her knife down and stop slicing up her counter, she only carved faster.

Dean was about to yank the knife out of her grasp when a voice sounded behind him.

"Some people are too lost to be found."

Sam already had his gun loaded and pointed at the person. Bobby had somehow gotten an AK-47 from Jo, which was ready to fire a stream of bullets at their new enemy.

He looked intimidating. His hair was so black it looked blue, his eyes were electric blue, and made Dean wince when he examined them. He wore all black too, and shirts and pants that looked straight out of Star Trek (**AN: I have never watched those movies, but I have a great picture of what their outfits look like. Sorry if I got a wrong picture of them,*best writer eva***). He, like Esme, had a cylinder with strange designs on the sides. Dean had a feeling it changed into an assortment of weapons, just like Esme's.

His hair looked as if it had just gotten rubbed by a crazy grandmother. He had a spark in his eyes, like he was about to prank someone, Dean wouldn't put it past him. The guy looked almost as young as Esme, maybe a year older.

Esme, who was still carving away, let out a quiet whimper. Dean was fast, but Sam was faster. He mumbled comforts to her, looking up at Dean with fear. Throughout his time with Esme, she's never acted even close to this, was she…

"Possessed?" The guy said, as if reading Dean's mind. "With the demons outside, I'd think so."

"Salt," Bobby said. "holy water, she's not possessed."

"By a demon, no." The guy stabbed his knife in a nearby bar table, only to pull out a disk that looked like a thick dinner plate. It was silver, though, and looked almost like a mix between a tablet and an ancient scroll. "Something else...yes."

Sam put his gun up, lining up a shot, but the guy snapped his fingers, and Sam's gun glowed a bright blue. He yelped, dropping the gun, when Dean looked at Sam's hands, there was a thin layer of frost on them.

"Holy shit…" Sam said, examining his hands.

Dean glared at the teen. "What the hell?"

"For someone who's been in it, I wouldn't use those words." He tossed the disk, and it somehow landed perfectly on the table that Esme was writing on. She had written almost a full paragraph of writing, or at least what Dean _thought _was writing. It looked like a load of crap, well, scribbles.

As soon as the disk, hit the table, Esme collapsed.

Dean didn't think twice, he caught her before she completely hit the ground. He lowered her to the floor, Ash and Ellen coming forwards to help.

"What did you do to her?" Sam shouted at the kid, who was smirking as if watching two toddlers argue.

"Name's Ben, by the way, she should know who I am." He said, taking the knife out of the table and batoning it between his fingers. He turned to leave the Roadhouse, bringing his hand up in a wave. "_II a été un plaisir_, or in other words, it's been quite the pleasure getting to meet you guys."

Ben didn't open the door, he walked right through it, the wood darkening like a shadow.


	7. Chapter 7

Esme dreamed that she was with her brother.

She wasn't aware that it was a dream until it ended and turned into a nightmare. But each second that the memory lasted, she gripped onto it like it was her last.

She was at the beach, her arms covered with a long-sleeved shirt that was very abnormal for 70 degrees weather. He brother seemed completely fine with it, but she knew that he was a bit sheepish.

She cared about him more than anyone else in the world. He had her sharp eyes and freckles, even the same nose and mouth, but his hair was completely different. It never found it's way to a comb, and was always shaggy and messy.

That just made her love him more.

"Ben," She asked from her place in the sand. She scooped up a handful of sand, letting it wither away like a broken hour glass. "why are you so nice to me?"

Ben scoffed. "I care about, Em, so don't ask."

Esme wasn't done. "But...that doesn't mean you have to stay with me. Why would you want to?"

Ben stared at the ocean, watching the waves crash to the shore and the sky start to fade dark. Nobody else was at the beach, and on different circumstances, Esme would've been glad.

But she wasn't.

Ben spoke again, his voice soft but somehow strict. "Esme, you're my little sister, it's basically my job to care about you. Even if I had a choice to leave you, I wouldn't. I don't care about your 'situation', you're still my sister, and that's not going to change."

She didn't know how Ben was so good at perking her up, but he was an expert. With a sister like her, he needed to have a few compliments handy 24/7.

She knew she was about to say thank you, or something a compliment back, but the scene shifted. The water at the beach faded red, and the sand went as black as night. When Esme looked back at her brother, a new person was sitting there, and she looked like anything _but _Ben.

Esme didn't know whether to call her hair blond or white, and it looked blue under the darkened sky. Her eyes were obviously blue, for they pierced right down her soul. The made Esme recoil, but something that felt like a wall, shoved her back towards her.

Smoke was coming from the woman's mouth, and a cigarette was placed in her long fingers. Esme bet that she could kill someone with those nails.

"I've heard much about you, _Esther_." The sound of her real name made Esme wince. She hated it; the way it sounded, they way it rolled off her tongue, and they way it struck up so many memories.

Esme had never seen this woman in her life, and the only people who knew her real name were her father and Ben. She hadn't told anyone, and the last time she checked, even her records were under the name "Esme".

She had just enough guts to ask a question. "Who are you?"

"Quite a common question. It not only shows fear and suspicion, but caution. And with you, Esther, caution is your specialty." The way the woman talked made Esme instantly hate her. She had that aura that snobby rich people had, like she knew she had money and was ready to rub it all over your face.

"Don't call me that." Esme snarled, she had no idea where all the anger had come from. She felt as if she had known this woman for years, like she meant something to her, but not in a good way.

The woman pouted, which was abnormal for someone who looked around the age of 30. "Esther, you don't need to be so rude to me, I have something you want."

_Famous last words. _Esme though, slipping her hand into her pocket, searching for her sword/knife/bow. She was startled to see that it was empty, which wasn't that surprising, hence dreaming.

_Looks like we're going old school._ Esme swung her hand upwards, but the woman was too fast. Esme was expecting it, and she aimed a kick at her shin.

She knew she had hit her mark when she heard a startled cry come from behind her, but Esme was already running.

"You can't run!" The woman screeched. "It's _your _head!"

"Watch me!" Esme yelled back defiantly, sand sliding underneath her as she bolted. She cursed as she slipped and water brushed at her ankles.

"Your choice!" Her voice was fading, but Esme heard it perfectly.

The sand started shifting, this time not from Esme running. It was sinking, like a drain had just opened and was planning on swallowing the whole beach. Esme tried to run away, but the sand seemed to grab onto her legs, pulling her downwards so hard that she fell to her chest.

It pulled her down towards the center of what now looked like a glass whirlpool. The sand had somehow increased in density, and now slicing her skin like small shards of needles.

The pain felt real.

_Itsadreamitsadreamitsadream. _She chanted in her head, but it didn't lesson the terror that was burning away at her veins.

She'd rather kill someone again.

* * *

><p>By the way Esme woke up, Sam knew that she had had a nightmare.<p>

After her little "episode", Bobby had said that they'd better get her to a safer place, or in other words, the panic room. It was pretty self explanatory; panic...room, it was safe.

Dean had taken a picture of what Esme had drawn, as if it had just appeared there instead of having someone carving it onto the table in a trance. Sam had assumed something went wrong to get Esme to do that, such as the presence of the disk Ben had appeared with.

There's another question.

Ben, who was Ben? They had looked similar, and the way Esme had looked at him. Longing, sadness (which wasn't too abnormal for Esme), maybe even a bit of love. But whatever was in her eyes, didn't last long.

Sam was enduring through the pain of listening to Dean's choice in music, which he had lived with ever since he could remember. It was turned down quiet so that they wouldn't wake Esme from whatever dreamland she was in at the moment; she looked like a rock with eyes. Her skin was pale, and she was running a slight fever, but Dean had said it wasn't anything to worry about.

"What do you mean 'nothing to worry about'?" Sam asked. "She just carved strange symbols into Ellen's bar, passed out shortly after, and now we are left with a strange disk and a teenager that looks just about dead. Good?"

Dean drummed the steering wheel, but Sam could tell he was nervous as well. "She'll be fine."

"What make you think that?"

As if on cue, Esme gasped, reeling upward from her lying position in the backseat. Dean immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road, nearly causing Bobby (who was followed behind them in his car) to crash into them.

Esme had somehow managed to open the Impala's door before Dean unlocked them. She bursted out, collapsing onto the gravel beside the Impala. Sam said something to Dean, but he wasn't too aware of what it was.

Esme shivered on the ground, but Sam knew that it had nothing to do with the cold. Dean appeared next to him, placing a hand awkwardly on Esme's forehead.

"She's...cold." Dean looked up at Sam, his face showing a mixture of concern and fear. "She feels dead."

"What's goin' on here?" Bobby was approaching them, surprise on his face like a mask. "You nearly made me crash...oh...balls."

When he saw Esme, shivering and clutching at herself, he joined the brothers in examining her. Her body heat, more like "body cold", was dropping at a fast rate. She was breathing erratically, and her pulse was pretty normal, but it was her temperature that threw them off.

"It shouldn't be that cold." Bobby said.

"Yeah," Sam had stripped off his jacket and placed it over Esme. It made hardly a difference. "we have to get her to your place, Bobby."

"How?" Dean asked. "When she's like this? As far as we're aware, she could be a walking bomb."

"Notta bomb…" Esme mumbled, her voice weak and scared. Her eyes were unfocused, but she had somehow managed to stare sharply at the hunters. "Ben…I'm sorry…"

"Hey, calm down," Sam fell to his knees to sooth Esme. "We're taking you to back to Bobby's place."

* * *

><p>Esme missed Ben.<p>

He was the only bit of her family still alive, and he was the only reason she kept going. She cared about him more than anything, even herself. All she wanted was him, and she was ready to do anything to get him back.

She had never felt more helpless in her life.

Sure she was weak, but that was no excuse to causing the whole "pack" to go into panic. She hated herself for doing that, mostly because she still didn't trust each of them fully. But also because it was delaying her chances of getting to her brother.

Whatever that disk had done to her, it wasn't helping at all.

She felt like someone was blocking her memories out, hiding them, like a glass wall that only got thicker each time you touched it.

She sat in the back seat of the Impala, her head in her hands as she looked out the window. The trees passed by like brinks of light; fast and out of sight as soon as they were seen.

She could feel the questions in the air, and Dean had many more than Sam. She wanted to answer them, but she was too lost in her own questions to do anything about it.

God, why did it have to be her? Sure, she was used to thoughts like these, but this time it felt more...pure.

She had broughten such a burden on the brothers, and it wasn't their fault either. They had just been doing there jobs, and it was her fault as well as agreeing to coming with them. Dean would never trust her, which Esme wasn't sure was a good or bad thing. Sam was too nice, which was _definitely_ a bad thing, for it would make telling him the truth harder.

She knew what she needed to do.

"Why are you-" She began.

"Stop attempting to-"

"We should probably-"

The after-effects of all talking at once was downright awkward. Dean was doing his best at drowning himself in anything _but _the awkward air. His solution was downright weird; he was browsing through the many rock songs that he knew, trying to find one that would fit the awkwardness that now filled the car.

It made Esme laugh.

She hadn't laughed in...forever. But now it felt almost heavy. Happiness and her had made an agreement years ago, and she rarely cracked a smile that would actually be a real one. Deep down, she somehow knew that this laugh, this happiness, was as real as the air around her.

The air turned so fast into surprise it was like a switch had gone off.

When Dean spoke, his voice was _extremely _hesitant. "Um...did I miss a joke?"

Esme was having a lot of trouble containing herself. "Y-y-you think like an asshole."

Sam's mouth flew upward at an alarming speed. His own laughs started to join Esme's, but Dean glared what Esme could only describe as a whole arsenal at Sam, forcing away his smile with alarm.

Puzzled, Dean asked, "What do mean I 'think like an asshole'?"

"I can tell you like rock songs, but not that you literally _breathe _rock music." Esme said, the glare Dean was giving her did nothing to the buzzed feeling in her chest.

Dean looked at Sam. "What did you do to her?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Nothing."

A smile was appearing on Dean's face, very slowly.

But then light filled the car, blinding Esme and making her cry out from the pain it brought into her head. Dean was shouting something, Esme screamed louder.

"Shut your eyes!"


End file.
